Apparently he could see her annoyance and relented. “If my friend were involved, I’d want to do something. And you are. Letting her stay here with you is the support she needs.”
“I could help.”
“You could get in the way of the investigation and make everything worse.”
Is that what would happen? Or would she find answers the police couldn’t?
Grant scowled at her. “From what Vince has said, trying to change your mind is like buying a one-way ticket to frustration. So really think and consider the consequences before you do anything. While you’re at it, try to convince your friend to consult a criminal defense attorney.”
“She’s not a criminal.”
“Fine,” he said with obvious frustration and turned to go.
But she couldn’t keep from calling his name. “Grant?”
He faced her again.
“Thank you.”
For the first time that morning, he gave her a half smile. “You’re welcome. And thank you for a good cup of coffee. Giselle’s tastes like dishwater.”
Before she could comment, he started down the walk.
Although she was smiling when she went back inside, her smile dropped away when she saw Roz with Dylan on the sofa. Her friend had sustained many blows, and Caprice didn’t know how Roz was maintaining her composure.
Sitting beside her, brushing her hand over Dylan’s head, she asked Roz, “How can I help you?”
Roz stared at her as if deciding what to say. Finally she requested, “Tell me exactly what you saw when Ted and that hairstylist were kissing.”
That took her aback. “Roz, you shouldn’t think about—”
“I have to know. Apparently there was so much I didn’t know.”
“Have you ever had your hair done at Curls R Us?” Caprice asked, trying to sidetrack her a bit.
“Before I married Ted. But afterward the women I associated with moved in a different circle. I have a standing appointment now with Roberto at Rapunzel’s Locks.”
Rapunzel’s Locks was Kismet’s elite salon. Patrons were served glasses of wine, as well as imported tea and coffee, and offered pedicures and manicures. Supposedly clients came from York and Harrisburg, and Roberto’s roster was often closed to new clients.
“Do you know Valerie?”
“No. I mean I know who she is. The way she dresses, everyone notices her. She sashays into the Koffee Klatch as if she owns the place.”
Valerie’s short skirts and low-cut necklines, along with her piled-on makeup, caused many heads to turn—women who disapproved and men who wanted a better glimpse of the many-times bleached blonde.
“She doesn’t seem to be Ted’s type,” Caprice ventured.
Roz gave a snort. “What is a man’s type? I want to know if Ted invited her to our open house or if she barged in on her own.”
“What I saw won’t help you.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Caprice reran the film in her mind. “It’s really no more than what I’ve already said. I heard voices and saw them.”
“Who was more involved? Ted or . . . that woman?”
“Roz—”
“Please tell me.”
Closing her eyes, Caprice thought about it. Valerie had had her arms wrapped around Ted’s neck and had been clinging to him like a vine that hadn’t wanted to let go. But he hadn’t been tearing himself away, either.
“They were kissing, Roz. They were both involved. He didn’t have his hands all over her—”
“He didn’t?”
“They were kissing. And it didn’t look like it was the first time. Afterward Valerie was acting like a primping peacock. She said—”
“Go on,” Roz demanded.
At that moment Caprice was sorry any of it had come out. “She was telling prospective buyers how large the whirlpool tub was.”
Roz looked horrified.
Changing the train of Roz’s thoughts, Caprice said, “I think Bella goes to Curls R Us. I’ll talk to her about Valerie. But is there anyone else who might hate Ted or want to hurt him?”
“Lots of people didn’t like Ted. He told everyone what he thought. He had strong opinions. As I told you, he and Monty had words. He and one of our neighbors, Jack Fielding, actually stopped speaking. Jack believes pharmaceutical companies have no interest in relieving human suffering, that they’re just out to make money. He cited a new pain reliever that could foster more addiction.”
“I don’t understand. All sorts of patients could benefit.”
“They could. But the medicine has to be carefully controlled, which means more doctor’s office visits. Jack believes it’s all a conspiracy to make a profit.”
“That’s complicated,” Caprice acknowledged. Then with her mind clicking away, she said, “When I talked to the two of you a few days before the open house, Ted was on the phone with someone and seemed angry. Do you know who Thompson is?”
“Chad Thompson is another vice president at PA Pharmaceuticals.”
“Do you know if he and Ted got along?”
“I never heard Ted say anything negative about him.”
“But Ted said, ‘If he does that, Thompson, I’ll kill him.’ Do you know who they were discussing?”
Dylan wiggled off Roz’s lap, got his bearings on the sofa, and then jumped down. He trotted through the dining room to the kitchen and back again.
Caprice knew what that meant and held up her hand. “Give us a minute.”
He sank down onto the floor but continued to watch them.
Rising to her feet, Roz shook her head. “I have no idea. Or what that conversation was about. For the most part, Ted didn’t talk to me about work.”
“I might go over to Ted’s office and ask a few questions.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Maybe I watch too much TV, but I don’t want to sit around while law enforcement concentrates on you and doesn’t cast a wider net.”
Caprice stood too, and Roz gave her a hug. “Thank you. You’re the best friend.”
“If I were in your shoes, I’d want someone to help me.”
Now that both women were standing, Dylan came to attention and ran in a circle around them.
“Do you mind if I take him to the yard for a while?” Roz asked. “With all the trees between the houses, no one should get a glimpse of me. Playing with Dylan might take my mind off everything for a while.”
“I wonder when you’ll be able to get back into your house.”
“I don’t know if I want to get back in. Though I do need clothes.”
The dress Roz had pulled from Caprice’s closet looked good on her. It was a copper-colored, high-waisted shift with embroidery across the bodice. It attractively molded to Roz’s body when she moved and fit her in a way it didn’t fit Caprice. But then Roz looked like a fashion model in anything.
Dylan yipped.
Stooping down, Caprice asked, “Would you like to go out with Roz while I make lunch?”
Dylan barked again.
“One of his balls is on the back porch. If you throw it, he’ll bring it back to you until he gets tired. Then he’ll just plop down.”
Roz smiled. “Don’t go to any trouble for lunch.”
“I won’t. I’ll find something to go with the soup.”
After Roz took Dylan outside, Caprice started toward the pantry but stopped at the kitchen window. Roz had thrown the orange ball. Dylan scampered after it. It was a shame Roz couldn’t take Dylan for a walk down the street. One of the reasons Caprice liked this neighborhood so much was the decades-old trees that shaded the sidewalk and the front yards of many of the properties. This time of year dogwoods were blooming, and shrubs were greening and filling out. In a few weeks she’d be planting zinnias. They’d add lush color wherever she planted them. Zinnias were one of those dependable summer flower varieties that didn’t take a lot of care.
In the pantry, she pulled a can of tuna from the shelf. If she remembered
correctly, she had a hard-boiled egg in the refrigerator. With pickle relish and mayo, she could make tuna cups that would go well with the soup. She set the oven for 350 degrees.
She was about to open the can with her grape-colored electric can opener when the counter phone rang. She smiled when she saw her mom’s number on caller ID.
“Hi, Mom.”
“How are you?” Her mother’s voice was filled with concern. “And how is Roz?”
She’d called her mother last night and told her what had happened, swearing her to secrecy with everyone but her dad and Nana. “I’m fine. Roz seems to be coping. She just took Dylan outside.”
“That will be good for her. I know you believe animals can help anyone through anything. Do you still take Sophia to the retirement center?”
“When I can.”
There was a pause. “I called because I heard a rumor that there was a commotion at the police station this morning. I wondered if you were involved.”
“I was there.” She sighed. She might as well tell her mom what was going on. Vince would find out from Grant, and he’d have questions. Vince never let anything slip by. Besides, very few secrets kept well in Kismet.
“Why were you there? You said you already gave a statement.”
How much to say. As a high school English teacher, her mom was plugged in to the community in a way Caprice wasn’t. She taught kids from families living in Reservoir Heights and would hear a variety of tidbits, some true, some not.
“Roz and I both gave statements last night. But they wanted to talk with her some more.”
“I hope she had a lawyer with her. She shouldn’t say a word without one present. The spouse is always the first suspect.”
So her mother watched the same TV shows or read the same books that she had. “I tried to call Vince,” Caprice admitted, “but he was in court. So Grant stood in.”
“What did they ask her?”
There wasn’t much she could do but give her mom a little more detail. “I couldn’t sit in on the interview. I tried to go in with Roz for moral support, but Grant gave her that instead.”
“How did you feel about that?”
“I didn’t feel anything. I was glad he could help when Vince couldn’t.”
“Oh, really. You and Grant got along well?”
“We weren’t together long enough. Getting along wasn’t a priority. Helping Roz was.”
“Caprice—” Her mother’s voice had that motherly, singsong quality that all daughters knew meant trouble. She tried to brace herself for what was coming.
“Honey . . .”
That endearment meant even more trouble.
Then it came. “The past few years you and Grant have had a sort of tension between you. Wouldn’t you agree?”
She had to extricate herself from this conversation quickly. “Grant and I have hardly seen each other the past few years. I don’t know why you think you see tension.”
“I see something when the two of you go out of your way to avoid each other.”
“Your imagination—”
“Is not working overtime. I’m just calling a spade a spade. You’ve always liked him. Since his daughter drowned and he got divorced, you think you have to treat him with kid gloves. You don’t.”
“I don’t treat him that way at all,” she protested hotly.
“Then how do you treat him? Don’t you think your dad and I could see how much you once liked him?”
Oh, Lord. If they had seen it, who else had?
“I was a kid.”
“Maybe. Now you’re not. Don’t just sit back, Caprice, and let a possibility pass you by. If you’re both going to be helping Roz, anything could happen.”
Oh, yes, anything could happen. Roz could end up in jail, and Caprice could regret ever calling Grant. “You don’t usually interfere in my life.”
“No, I don’t. Because I learned long ago if I tell you not to do something, you will do it just to prove you can.”
“I do not!”
“You do. You take advice from Nana much better than from me.”
“She just gives me decorating advice.”
“With a little life advice thrown in. You just don’t notice it.”
Was that really true? She’d have to think about that later. “So what have you heard about Ted’s murder?” If she managed to coax her mother back to the original subject, maybe she’d forget about Grant.
“I don’t gossip.”
Caprice sighed. “I know you don’t, Mom. But didn’t you have a parent-teachers’ organization meeting last night?”
“It was a committee meeting for the last fundraiser of the year. We’re selling submarine sandwiches again.”
“And?”
After a long pause, her mother finally dropped her bombshell. “I think I know who killed Roz’s husband.”
Chapter Seven
“You know who might have killed him?” Caprice was shocked, surprised, and mystified.
“One of the parents, Mr. Waxman, blew up at Tracey Torriman.”
“Tracey’s the sweetest teacher in your building!”
“I know what you mean. She’s young, perky, bubbly, and nice to everyone to a fault, if you ask me.”
Her mother didn’t believe in tiptoeing around a subject, even with parents. But Tracey hated to hurt anyone’s feelings, including telling a parent her child wasn’t working up to par. She lavished praise often, sometimes even when it wasn’t deserved. Caprice knew Tracey because she’d redesigned a couple of rooms in her parents’ house, and Tracey’s parents were peers of Caprice’s parents.
“So what happened?”
“I’m not betraying any confidences because the situation happened in the hall in between classes. Tracey’s room is right next to the teachers’ room.”
The teachers’ lounge was hardly that. Visiting her mother there on occasion, Caprice knew it consisted of a unisex bathroom, an old couch someone had donated, a cafeteria table with about ten chairs around it, and a large coffeemaker that whoever was first into the room every morning started. However, it was a haven where some teachers ate lunch or did planning, and others stopped in before or after school just to chat. There were classrooms on either side of it and across from it.
Her mother continued, “Tracey’s chemistry class sometimes wanders into the discussion of modern medicine and pharmaceutical companies. Apparently she mentioned PA Pharmaceuticals and some of the advances they’ve made over the years in research and development. Well, Bart Waxman’s son is in that class. The next day Bart marched into Tracey’s classroom a few minutes before his son’s class started and began reaming her out because she was giving PA Pharmaceuticals good press. He’d been let go the week before without much explanation, and his blood pressure was up, that’s for sure, because his face was all red. He yelled at her, telling her she shouldn’t be advertising anything about that dirty-dealing company in her classroom.”
“And you heard all this?”
“All of us heard it. He was loud enough to wake the dead! Everyone was buzzing about it last night.”
“What was his position at PA Pharm?”
“I think he was a production manager. At least that’s what I heard after his outburst.”
“And he didn’t know why he was fired?”
“Not according to him. He said they were all crooks who just want to take the money and run.”
That sounded like a blanket statement, and Bart Waxman could just have been venting his frustration and anger.
“I didn’t tell you the best part,” her mom confided with a little bit of slyness that Caprice wasn’t sure if she’d ever heard before.
“The best part?”
“The day after Ted Winslow was killed, one of the other teachers told me Ted was Waxman’s boss, and the one who fired him.”
“Whoa.” Caprice blew out the word without thinking.
“Exactly. Whoa.”
That was certainly a motive if Caprice
ever heard one. In these economic times no one wanted to be fired from anything. Jobs were too hard to find, especially in Kismet. Interviewing in Harrisburg or York would mean a commute. Most people weren’t happy with change, not unless they were running toward it.
So the question was: did the police know about Waxman? “Do Dad and Chief Powalski still have a monthly poker game?”
“Your dad hasn’t mentioned Mack recently, but I think he’s still one of the guys who antes up.”
Caprice chuckled. Her mom thought she knew the language, but she’d never sat at a poker table in her life. On the other hand, Caprice and Vince had filled in once in a while when her dad felt the group was short of players.
“In fact,” her mom continued, “one is scheduled for Thursday night.”
“Does Dad know this story about Waxman?”
“Sure, he does. I don’t keep secrets from him. We talk about everything. Or at least I talk and he pretends to listen.”
Her mom and dad had been married for thirty-seven years. Caprice knew their romance very well because, along with her brother and sisters, she’d heard it many times over. Her mom had attended Shippensburg University, about an hour and a half away. She’d been home on summer break, living in York with her parents. She’d spent mornings helping her mom with her gardens, then during the afternoons and evenings worked in a clothing store in one of York’s malls. One morning, she’d gone outside to clip a bouquet of flowers to bring indoors. She’d just finished collecting roses and zinnias when she’d heard noise on the roof. When she’d looked up, she’d spotted a man around her age, nineteen, all bronzed and tanned and muscled, with black hair tousled by the wind. Their gazes locked, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Nicolas De Luca was a brick mason who had come to fix the flashing around the chimney. Today, at age fifty-seven, he was still a brick mason, though he had a crew of men working under him now. But he went out on jobs himself sometimes, and she knew that worried her mother. Her dad had been from Kismet, and they moved here after they married. When Francesca lost her parents—her mother to a heart attack, her father to a stroke—Caprice’s mom had found it more than difficult to sell that house. It had held so many memories, including the one where she’d found the love of her life. A few years back, they’d decided to put an addition on their house in Kismet so Nana Celia could move in with them, and that had helped. Bonds and connections were everything to Francesca De Luca, and Caprice found they were important to her too.
Staged to Death (A Caprice De Luca Mystery) Page 8
